


Flowers

by fanetjuh



Series: Jonsa Week [56]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Depression, F/M, mentions of dead Starks, semi-modern au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 16:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18123500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanetjuh/pseuds/fanetjuh
Summary: Losing her parents, losing her brother, Arya and Bran leaving, Jeoffrey, Ramsay, it had all been too much for Sansa to handle. And only Jon knows how to be there for her.





	Flowers

Sansa had her arms wrapped around her legs and her knees pressed to her chest. Mindlessly she was zapping from one channel to the other, but she wasn’t really looking for something to watch. She was just looking for a way to waste her time, until midnight or way past that. 

“Sansa?” Jon shook his head and leaned against the doorframe. “The weather is nice. We could go outside today?”

Sansa already shook her head before he was finished. She wasn’t interested in going outside, not when it rained and not when the sun shone. 

“Sansa…” Jon walked towards her and he sat down on the edge of her seat. Gently he placed a hand on her back and for a moment he just sat there in absolute silence. 

She already knew what he was going to say. 

He would say the same thing he always said. 

And she would answer the same thing too.

Jon licked his lips. “Is this what you’re gonna do the rest of your life? Waking up at three in the afternoon and sitting out your time while counting down the hours until two at night?” 

She waited for the but. For the because. For whatever came after that question. But nothing came apart from more silence. And more silence. And that much silence that even Sansa couldn’t bear it anymore. “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Maybe.” 

Jon’s grip on her tightened and he pulled her towards him, rocking her back and forth and back and forth. Eventually he pressed a soft kiss on her forehead. “Do you mind if I go outside to enjoy the weather for a bit?”

Once more Sansa shrugged. She didn’t mind. She didn’t not mind either. She didn’t know how she felt. Not about Jon leaving her to have a walk outside on his own. And not about anything and everything else in her life. She felt everything and nothing at once. She wanted to cry, but then the tears never really seemed to come. She wanted to scream, but whenever she opened her mouth her anger always seemed to fade away. She wanted to throw with things, but that would require standing up and she didn’t have the energy to do that.

“I'll be right back, I promise.” Jon kissed her forehead once more and stood up.

A part of her wanted to call him back, wanted to yell that she needed him to hold her, that she wanted him to stay with her, that she regretted being like this and that she knew she was hard to love right now. But another part of her was whispering that he would leave eventually anyway. 

Either he would leave, just like Arya and just like Bran. Or he would die, just like her father and her mother, just like Robb and just like Rickon.

So she didn’t look up when he put his jacket on and walked out of the door. She just kept on switching channels, over and over again, on an endless loop until she had seen each and every program at least thirty times. Not that she was counting. It didn’t matter. Nothing really mattered anymore.

She tightened her grip on her knees and took a few deep breaths. Sometimes she allowed herself to remember how it had been. How she had fought with her siblings, not realising how much she actually loved them. How she had yelled at her parents that she was old enough to look after herself, not realising that she would miss them so much when they were gone. How she had believed in princes and knights in shining armours, not realising that not all princes were charming and that not all knights were noble. She had been such a fool back then, and yet, she wishes she could still be that fool, without the hurt and the loss and the humiliation and the pain she carried around these days.

When the door of their small apartment opened again, she didn’t look up. She was still going from channel to channel to channel. 

“Sansa?” Jon sat down on the edge of her seat once more. He didn’t bother to take off his jacket, but he didn’t wrap his arm around her either. He simply placed countless small daisies in front of him on the table. His finger was trembling when he took the first one and attempted to make a small cut in the stalk, but failed hopelessly. He had his tongue stuck between his lips when he tried again and again and again. 

“You're not very good at it, are you?” Sansa took a deep breath, but she reached for a daisy and put the remote control down. Even though she hadn’t made flower crowns for years her fingers still knew exactly how to do it. Within a couple of minutes she had a circle of flowers. “Here…” She gave Jon the flower crown and grabbed the remote control again to continue what she had been doing.

“Who taught you how to make one?” Jon twirled the crown around and around. 

“Mom did.” Sansa swallowed. “She was always looking forward to spring. She took me to the Godswood, but instead of teaching me how to pray, she showed me how to make a flower crown.” Sansa paused. “She tried to teach Arya too, but Arya didn’t have the patience for it. And she didn’t really like it either.”

Jon’s lips curled up into a slight smile. “What did you do with them when they were finished?”

Sansa furrowed her eyebrows, but she remembered how proud Robb had always been when he was wearing the flower crown, telling everyone that he was a true king now and that they should all bow for him. “I gave them to…” She paused. “To Robb.” She bent her head and she felt something break inside her. Her heart. Her soul. Whatever little she had left. “I gave them to Robb, to King Robb.”

“Shall we go and give him this one too?” Jon used his thumb to wipe a tear from her cheek.

A tear.

She hadn’t cried in weeks. She hadn’t been able to. It had been too much. Too much at once. Too much for one person. It had hurt too much to handle. And yet, she would have to deal with it at some point. Maybe now was just as good a moment as any other moment.

“I'd love to try."


End file.
